


Growing Up (or, Jeremy Doesn't Know)

by BlueGirl22



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Multi, Suicidal Thoughts, essentially a long character study on the both of them with some plot thrown in, technically this ends in meremine but it focuses almost entirely on michael and jeremy, the mood changes up from section to section real quick so. Strap yourself in.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-20 07:23:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15529152
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueGirl22/pseuds/BlueGirl22
Summary: Growing up in today's world can be difficult, and while having a close friend with whom to see it through can help you, it also means you have someone else you're forced to care about. Jeremy cares about Michael so much, and though their friendship has proved helpful and happy through most of his life, sometimes Michael causes him so much worry that it's hard to breathe.





	Growing Up (or, Jeremy Doesn't Know)

**Author's Note:**

> This is the second longest work I've ever posted, and the only one longer is three chapters.... yay me, I guess?

It’s kindergarten, and when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he thinks of a friend. Which he is! Michael is a good friend! Jeremy has never had a friend before! He loves having a friend. They share their snacks and lunches every day at school, and Michael’s moms (two! Two moms! Two entire moms! Jeremy only has one of those!) are very nice, and they do puzzles together. There’s a specific _Cars_ one they do every day. It’s twenty-five pieces! Michael is brave, too. The first few days of school, the assistant teacher kept calling him “she,” but Michael corrected her until she stopped. How cool is that? Michael got an adult to do something!

In art class one day, they fingerpaint. Jeremy gets his fingertips blue and doodles carefully, but Michael gets red up to his elbow and just goes for it. The art teacher says he wasn’t meant to do that, but it’s still awesome. After they finish their individual paintings, they share a piece of paper and draw something purple. Neither of them are sure what it is, but it’s certainly cool. Jeremy loves having a friend!

* * *

It’s fifth grade, and when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he thinks of salvation. That’s a word he learned recently, “salvation.” It’s a good word, it sounds dramatic. He thinks of salvation because he’s not stupid, he’s noticed every other kid has some sort of group of friends with which they hang out. But Jeremy doesn’t have a group. He has a Michael. Sometimes he wonders why Michael is friends with him. Jeremy doesn’t know how to talk to other kids (his teacher says this makes him “a pleasure to have in class”), but Michael is so vibrant, he could join a clique no problem.

But he doesn’t.

He stays with Jeremy.

Which is why Jeremy thinks of salvation. Because, without Michael, he’d have nothing. No one to talk to at recess, no one with whom to do group projects, no one by whom to sit at lunch, nothing. Heck, if Michael’s absent, he already doesn’t have any of that.

He thinks of salvation because, out of all the people in the world, or, at least, all the people in their grade, Michael chose and chooses to be friends with someone as inconsequential as Jeremy. And Jeremy knows just how lucky that makes him.

* * *

It’s seventh grade, and when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he thinks of happiness. Reliability. Routine. All that good stuff. It being middle school and all, people have been experimenting with their looks, and Michael has taken to wearing bright red all the time. It’s a warm, happy colour. Jeremy likes it.

Also, when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he wonders how his friend has been putting up with his ramblings all year. A girl named Christine just transferred to Middleborough, and she’s _amazing._ She’s not in any of Jeremy’s classes, but he sees her walking the hallways every day. She’s loud and bubbly and smiley and cute and kind of like Michael in those respects, now that Jeremy thinks about it. Not that Jeremy would say that Michael’s _cute,_ well he wouldn’t _not_ say that, Michael’s got a perfectly pleasant face, but he wouldn’t _say he was cute, what even-_

Anyway.

Jeremy gushes about Christine at every available opportunity. He knows it’s a bit much, but he can’t help it. And if Michael thinks it’s annoying, he’s not showing it.

Jeremy is having a great year.

* * *

It’s eighth grade, and when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he’s worried.

He’s more than worried, actually, he’s actively distressed. Something must have happened at the beginning of the year, because a few weeks into school, Michael’s behaviour changes. They share a lot of classes, and Jeremy starts noticing that Michael keeps missing homework, which is unlike him. He’s smart, he usually breezes through classes. Dark circles appear under his eyes. He stops eating lunch, he just sits at the table with nothing in front of him. He’s absent a whole lot more than he usually is. He doesn’t laugh or smile.

Jeremy doesn’t know what’s going on.

He knows something definitely isn’t right; this isn’t the Michael he knows, but he doesn’t know how serious it is. How is _he_ supposed to gauge whether this is an “it’ll resolve itself” situation or a “tell an adult” situation? What adult would he even tell? His parents? Michael’s parents? A teacher? Which parent? Which teacher? Jeremy doesn’t have a clue.

Things only seem to get worse. Michael’s hair always looks greasy, his clothes always dirty, his expression always pained. He’s still wearing red, but after winter break, he takes to wearing an enormous red hoodie all the time. Literally, every time Jeremy sees him, he’s wearing that hoodie. Jeremy doesn’t pay it too much attention. Until one day, in early March.

It’s a Tuesday, and they’re in an art class again. The assignment it to paint some trees, and everything is going perfectly normally. The teacher puts Pandora on softly, there’s some chatter at each of the tables, and Jeremy is trying to get the gradient right on this background. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Michael absentmindedly hitch up his left sleeve to get the cuff out of the way. Jeremy stares, his heart leaping into his throat.

Michael’s forearm is covered in cuts.

Some look older and are mostly healed. Some are scabbed over. Some look very recent. And Jeremy’s not stupid, he knows what Michael’s behaviour over the past months + forearm cuts means. And Jeremy’s heart breaks clean in two.

He keeps staring. He can’t manage to tear his eyes away. How is he supposed to go back to focusing on trees when he knows that his best friend is hurting so bad on the inside that he hurts himself on the outside? Suddenly, Michael tenses up, and Jeremy finally moves his gaze. Michael is looking at him. Michael saw him staring. Michael knows that he knows.

They hold eye contact for a second. Michael looks terrified. His eyes are wide, his mouth slightly open. Jeremy can only imagine what his own expression looks like. Robotically, Michael pulls down his sleeve, gets off his stool, mumbles something to the teacher about going to the bathroom, and leaves. He doesn’t come back all period.

Jeremy barely sees him for the next two weeks.

Michael is absent a lot, he sits across the room during class, and he vanishes at lunch. A lot of things happen in Jeremy’s head. A part of his brain tells him to reach out to Michael and go to one of the school counselors. Another part says if he comes on too strong, or if he reacts too forcefully, he’ll lose Michael’s trust. A third, very influential part is paralysed by worry and confusion.

But, after a little while, Michael starts talking to him again. He sits down with him at lunch one day like everything’s normal, and starts complaining about their English teacher’s terrible interpretation of _A Raisin In The Sun_.

“You’ve read it before?” says Jeremy.

“Not read it, seen it,” replies Michael. “My mom had a big live-theater phase a few years back and we all went to see a bunch of stuff.”

“Which mom?”

“Oh, uh, Camilla.”

This is a natural conversation. This is normal. What does Jeremy have to be worried about? Michael could have gotten those cuts from any number of places. He could have been mauled by a cat. He could shave his arms and just be really bad at it. Maybe he fell into a pile of nails. Who knows, maybe Jeremy just mis-saw something and Michael doesn’t have anything there at all.

As they walk out of the cafeteria to go to their separate classes, Jeremy has half-convinced himself to stop worrying, but Michael leans in close and says in an almost-whisper, “Have you told anyone? About, um, my arm?”

Jeremy breaks out into a cold sweat instantly, but he shakes his head.

“Thanks,” says Michael, then runs off.

That’s the most Jeremy hears out of Michael about… all of _that_ … for a couple months or so. But it’s the elephant in the room; Jeremy can feel unspoken words hanging in the air at their every interaction. He still tries to ignore it though. Michael seems to be getting a little better. He still doesn’t seem quite himself, but he’s bringing a lunch again. That must be a good sign, right? May rolls around, and teachers start assigning grade-defining projects and rolling out finals review guides. Jeremy feels like he’s drowning under all the handouts, but he’s essentially getting by. He could do worse than write a six-page essay about Nikola Tesla.

But Michael starts changing again. He’s almost completely closed-down during class, while being talkative and lively when they’re together in private. It’s not a good lively, though. It’s like he’s running on adrenaline alone; he’s frazzled. He laughs at the wrong times and talks about lying awake in the dark at night, unable to to sleep. He makes jokes where the punchline is that he wants to die, and that scares Jeremy more than words can describe. This is _not_ the Michael he knows.

Two weeks before finals, a Saturday, Jeremy sits in his bedroom. He’s trying to conjugate some Spanish verbs into the preterite, but it’s not working out too well for him. His mind wanders, wondering what language Christine takes. She gives off French vibes. His phone buzzes, and, welcome for the distraction, he checks it instantly. It’s a text from Michael.

player one: can you come over?

player one: i know it’s late and your probably doing smth, but

player one: i don’t wanna be alone right now

player one: please

Jeremy’s hands are a little slippery with sweat, but he messages back quickly.

player two: I’ll be there in a min

player two: thank you for asking

player two: are your parents home?

player one: their on an overnight trip to nyc

player two: alright, I’m leaving my house now

He stutters something to his mom in the living room as he barrels out the front door, practically sprinting down the street. The Mell household is only a fifteen minute walk away, but running could cut that time in half. Eventually, the house hoves into view, and he slows down. The door is unlocked, so he just goes in. Everything is dark and quiet; he doesn’t hear any noise from any of the rooms. Silently, he drifts to Michael’s bedroom, guessing correctly that it’s the most likely place for him to be.

The door is ajar, and he pushes it open with a slight creak. The only light in the room is the twilight sun filtering in through a dirty window, illuminating the dust in the air enough to make it look like glitter. The light is just sufficient for Jeremy to see Michael, in his ever-present hoodie, huddled on his bed, facing away from the door.

Making sure his footsteps are loud enough to be heard, Jeremy creeps over to the bed and sits down. Michael must have noticed him come in, but doesn’t give any sign of acknowledgement, he just keeps staring at the wall. Unsure of how to proceed, Jeremy wraps his left arm around Michael’s shoulders. Wordlessly, Michael adjusts himself so he can rest his head on his friend’s chest. Jeremy lets a few seconds tick by, seeing if Michael will choose to start the conversation. He doesn’t.

Breaking the silence, Jeremy says, “What’s up?”

Michael sighs deeply. “I don’t even- I don’t know- I can’t even- UGH!” He rubs his eyes under his glasses, and Jeremy suspects tears are coming. “Nothing! Nothing is up! I’m just being stupid and-” his voice breaks. _Yep, definitely tears_ , Jeremy thinks as Michael’s back starts to shake. Having known him for nine years now, this is the ...second? ….third? time Jeremy has seen him cry.

Jeremy pulls him closer. He’d felt a conversation like this coming for a long time, and he’d tried to prepare, but he still draws a mental blank. Blindly, he searches for words. “You’re not stupid,” he finally stumbles across. _Aw, yeah, great work Jeremy, what a perfect phrase for this situation._

Michael sniffles. “Tell that to my grades, man.”

Again, Jeremy fumbles for words. “That’s not- that doesn’t mean- that’s not a measure of your personhood. It’s not your fault. Something happened to you and-”

“No! No,” Michael interjects. “Nothing happened. At all. It’s just like my fucking,” he pauses, waving his fingers in front of his face, “Brain stopped working all of a sudden. I can’t _do_ anything, I can’t _make_ myself do anything, I can’t even _feel_ anything for weeks on end, except sometimes I feel _so much_ and the noises in my head are _so loud_ that I…” he trails off, but seeing his hand ghost over his sleeve, Jeremy can guess what he meant.

The tears are coming faster now, and Jeremy wraps his other arm around Michael, hugging him properly. He doesn’t say anything. He’s never been great at emotions, and Michael sobbing in his arms is a very weird circumstance. Usually it’s vice versa.

Michael catches his breath. “I don’t want to be like this. I’ve always based so much of my personality on like, being an optimist and shit. This doesn’t feel like me, but it also feels like it might be now.” A pause. “That doesn’t make any sense, sorry.”

Another pause, but this one stretches on for longer, and Jeremy feels Michael’s breathing even out a little. Eventually, Jeremy speaks. “You need to talk to someone about this.”

“I’m talking to you.”

“I mean like, a therapist someone. It’s great that you texted me, I’ll _always_ be here to listen when you need me, but the reality is, I’m an eighth grader.”

That draws a chuckle from Michael, so Jeremy waits a moment to continue. “I’m an eighth grader, I know about as much what to do as you. Less, actually, I think. You need to see a _professional_.”

Michael rubs his eyes again. “I’ve thought about going to an adult about this. I really have, but how do I even start that conversation? I don’t think I can.”

More silence. A thought flickers through Jeremy’s mind. “Hey Michael? Why’d you text me? You can ask me to come over anytime, don’t get me wrong, but what made you reach out this time?”

He hears Michael swallow, and his eyes get shiny again. “It’s worse when I’m alone, a lot worse, and I realized that if I had another hour by myself, I might… I was gonna…” Once again, he trails off, and Jeremy sees his right hand ball up in his left sleeve.

Jeremy fills in the blank to the sentence, and his pulse stops completely. He pulls Michael as close as he can. Mostly because he thinks Michael needs it, but he also doesn’t want Michael to see him cry. This isn’t a Jeremy problem, he shouldn’t be crying.

He stays in Michael’s room until the morning, making a call home once to assure his parents he wasn’t abducted. Before he leaves the house, he slips into to Michael’s moms’ room, leaving a note on their bed. It doesn’t go into too much detail, and he says not to tell Michael it was Jeremy that told them, but it does the job. Next week, Michael goes to his first therapy session.

* * *

It’s ninth grade, and when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he thinks of pride.

Firstly, he’s about as proud of Michael as it’s possible for a person to be. When they get back from summer break, Jeremy almost cries when he sees Michael back. The real Michael. Smiley Michael, laughing Michael, always-in-motion Michael, Michael with a lot of weird tastes and tics. Everything isn’t already perfect again, of course, depression (plus anxiety and ADHD, apparently) doesn’t just vanish, but now he reaches out whenever he feels overwhelmed. That’s about as much as Jeremy can ask for.

Secondly, a change has come about in Michael’s wardrobe. Nothing major at first, he still wears the red hoodie around most people, sometimes taking it off in private, but he comes in one day with a little square stitched in near the bottom, emblazoned with the words “rise above racism.” Jeremy nods when he sees it and says “Nice.”

“Yeah,” says Michael.

A riveting conversation.

A day or two later, a Bob Marley patch appears just above the first one. Then one that says “Bowie” on the right shoulder. A polar bear, the Ecuadorian and Filipino flags, the Pac-Man ghosts. Things of which he’s proud. Sometime during all of this, Michael starts wearing eyeliner and nail polish as well.

Oh, also, when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he doesn’t just think of pride, he thinks of Pride.

After the first batch of patches sprouts on the hoodie, there’s a lull for a week. Then, on Monday, he comes into school with a multicoloured, rectangular one on his left shoulder.

“Is that a rainbow?” asks Jeremy.

“Yep,” replies Michael, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Isn’t that a symbol for-”

“Yep.”

“And does that mean you’re…?”

The smile takes over Michael’s face. “Oh hell yeah.”

Jeremy takes about half a second to process this information. “Sick, man.”

“Thanks.”

A few more pop up over the next months, notably a little circular one on the front with blue pink white pink blue stripes, and then it settles down. Whenever Jeremy sees Michael not wearing the hoodie, he’s glad to notice all the marks on his arms fading, and no new ones popping up. Jeremy is so proud. He had come to think of that piece of clothing as a symbol of his friend’s distress, but now it’s something different. Something warm. Something very Michael.

* * *

It’s eleventh grade, and when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he’s envious. He _hates_ that he feels envious, but he can’t stop it. Jeremy’s been feeling more and more dissatisfied with his life and himself for years, but it's gotten really tough recently. He’s anxious and weird and he doesn’t know how to talk to people and _fuck_ he can’t even get on the fucking school bus without having a crisis about it. But he looks at Michael, and he’s _happy_ with being weird. It’s a core tenet of his personality. So Jeremy should be able to be satisfied, right? Wrong.

He knows Michael didn’t just waltz out into the world proud of who he is, and that he’s steadily worked for years at being comfortable in his own skin, but Jeremy just can’t help it. He wants to be content like that.

But, Jeremy hasn’t felt fulfilled with himself since, uh… ever, so he thinks that the best way to feel better is not to change his attitude, but the life around him.

So he gets a supercomputer implanted in his brain. It seems like a good idea at the time.

And everything goes to hell.

* * *

It’s… still eleventh grade, just a little farther into it, and when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he feels crushing guilt. Spirit-smushing, bone-squashing, will-breaking guilt.

Upon getting out of the hospital, Jeremy makes a conscious effort to repair his relationship with Michael. It’s a little hard to do that now that he has more than one friend to juggle, but Michael is his priority. He hurt his _best friend_ by _repeatedly_ choosing to _block him out of his life_. Yeah, he’s apologized, but Jeremy thinks he needs to follow his words through with actions. Michael isn’t showing any outward resentment, but Jeremy knows he’d rather put screws under his nails than cause unnecessary conflict, so he might be just be hiding it. But besides all that, things seem to be going rather well.

One day, they’re sitting on a bench in the park, enjoying the stillness of the area. Jeremy’s drinking some hot chocolate, and Michael’s got a slushie even though it’s late November and it’s cold out. Slipping his headphones off his ears, Michael says, “Rate the _Lord of The Rings_ movies from least to most gay.”

Jeremy chokes on his drink. “What?”

“You heard me.” Michael brings the slushie to his mouth and takes a smug sip.

“Well, objectively, Sam carrying Frodo up the volcano is one of the gayest scenes in movie history, so naturally, _Return of The King_ has gotta be the…” Jeremy trails off. Keeping his arm up to hold his slushie made Michael’s sleeve slip down. Jeremy is used to seeing older scars there and has taught himself not to stare, but this time he notices new marks.

Michael’s eyes flick to where Jeremy’s gaze is, and is about to say something, but Jeremy gets there first.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d relapsed?”

Michael looks to be searching for words for a moment, but ultimately decides to remain silent.

Jeremy puts his cup down beside him, and softly says, “It’s my fault, isn’t it?”

Michael also puts his cup down and rubs at his eyes with the base of his hands. “No, no, it’s not _your fault_. You weren’t yourself, and my reaction isn’t on you, plus, you’ve already apologized. Telling you would have been unnecessarily guilt-trippy.”

“It’s not guilt-trippy to want to talk about what you’re going-” Jeremy cuts himself off. “Look,” he begins again, “You don’t have to talk to me, but you need to tell _someone_ when this happens, and I’m all ears. I just, I don’t want you to feel alone.”

The wind picks up a little bit, and they listen to it rattle the dying leaves in the trees. Michael tugs at the cuff of his sleeve. “When...” he starts out, “When we… parted ways on Halloween, I had my first panic attack in a while. And, it was bad. Panic attacks are always bad, duh, but this one hit me like a piano falling out of the sky. And it wasn’t just what you said. Okay, it was a lot what you said, but social situations make me anxious by themselves, and I’d stopped going to therapy during the summer-”

“You stopped going to therapy?”

“Stupid idea, I know, I’m going back, I promise. But it was like, like, the room tossed and turned like a ship, and I got myself so worked up, and it felt like someone was going at my skull with a sledgehammer, and suddenly I found myself thinking ‘This is a bathroom, there are probably razors in the cabinet.’”

Jeremy reaches out and puts a hand on Michael’s shoulder.

“And, y’know, after starting again, it’s hard to stop. ” Michael pulls his sleeves up to his elbows and surveys his forearms. There are lots and lots of faded light lines covering his skin, with more recent, redder wounds glaring up garishly. The effect is not unlike tiger stripes. Voice cracking a little bit like he’s choking back tears, he says, “It’s not as bad as before.”

Repeating a move he made three years ago, Jeremy scoots in closer and wraps his arms around his friend. “I’m so, _so_ sorry,” he whispers.

Michael isn’t crying, but he buries his face in Jeremy’s shoulder nonetheless.

“I love you, you know that, right?”

Michael nods his head. “Yeah.”

They sit there like that for another minute. Jeremy’s blood rushes in his ears, drowning the sound of all but one thought: _he_ did this. _He_ did this to his _best friend_.

* * *

Remarkably, it’s still eleventh grade, but spring now, and when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he thinks of love.

He thinks these feelings have been stewing in him for years, but he’s only just recognized them, and in recognizing them, they’ve doubled in intensity. Nearly losing Michael and then spending a lot of time analysing his own emotions made Jeremy realize his feelings weren’t exactly platonic. He’s loath to use the word “love” because he doesn’t want to sound like he’s rushing into anything. But on the other hand, how can he rush into feelings for someone he’s known for twelve years?

Anyway, in keeping with what happens whenever he catches feelings for anyone, Jeremy has become a blushy crushy mess. He’s staring from across the room, forgetting how to speak, and sweating up a storm whenever Michael’s near. They’ve been sharing bedspace during sleepovers since forever, but Jeremy had nearly shot through the roof when Michael touched his hand the other day. He must be pretty obvious, because Christine has “casually” mentioned several times that she’s totally open to polyamory if that’s something in which he’s interested, and she’s not exactly known for her observational skills. But her saying that came as a great relief to Jeremy, because he definitely still likes her.

He doesn’t really know what to do about these feelings, though. He’s tried asking Michael on a date once or twice, but he keeps taking it as a friend thing.

He decides to write a letter. He’d tried writing one to Christine once, but he hadn’t had have the courage to give it to her. But now he thinks he has the guts to follow through. In blue pen and on a piece of cream white paper, he pours out his feelings, practically bleeding onto the page. He folds it up, slips it into Michael’s locker, and waits.

The next day, Michael shows no sign of having seen it. Jeremy sweats about it all day. Did he put it in the wrong locker? Did he accidentally slip it between the pages of a book? Did he use some kind of vanishing ink?

The school day draws to a close, and they swing by their lockers to get what they need for the night. As Michael enters his combination, a thought occurs to Jeremy.

“Hey, Michael, have you opened your locker today?”

“Not yet, why?” He says as the door swings open and a piece of paper flutters to the ground. He bends over to get it. “Hey, what’s this?”

“It’s, it’s um, nothing, can I just-” Jeremy tries to back away, but Michael is already unfolding the letter. Suddenly, Jeremy is paralysed by anxiety.

“It’s your handwriting,” Michael mumbles, eyes scanning the lines. A smile ghosts across his lips, getting bolder and bolder as he reads farther. He flips it over to see if there’s anymore, and upon finding there isn’t, directs his glowing expression at Jeremy. “You wrote this?”

Jeremy doesn’t know where this conversation is headed. “I, uh, yeah.”

Before he can process what’s happening, he feels Michael’s arms fling around him and a kiss press into his cheek.

Maybe the letter was the right call.

* * *

It’s twelfth grade, and when Jeremy thinks of Michael, he thinks of joy. He also thinks of joy when it comes to Christine. They all go to homecoming together, wearing colour-coordinated outfits. They plan to apply to the same colleges. Jeremy doesn’t know exactly what the future holds, but he thinks it can’t be too bad. He awaits it with open arms.

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> whaddup, if you liked this you can hmu on tumblr @bisexual-evanhansen to ramble about this or send me any prompts you might have


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